


To Love A Stray Cat

by Meloyelox (PastelBlueDahlia)



Category: Banana Fish
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Falling In Love, M/M, Manipulation, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, No Manga Spoilers, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, based on Breakfast At Tiffany's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-06-20 22:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15543723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBlueDahlia/pseuds/Meloyelox
Summary: “You wake me up, are rude to me and then you steal my cat. You really owe me a favor.““Okay?“ he says unsure.For the first time, there‘s a smile. It's mild and soft, fizzing at the edges. But it looks good. It sort of looks more than good, more and more, and Eiji somehow feels like he just witnessed something special.Maybe living here won‘t be that bad after all.- - -Okumura Eiji decides to become the assistant of his friend Ibe and move with him to New York, where he meets his strange but beautiful neighbor Ash Lynx who has the weird habit of always coming up with new names for his ugly cat. And while Eiji doesn‘t really know why so many men keep visiting Ash, Ash also assumes a few things about Eiji that are not necessarily true.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've decided to write for this fandom because someone one said write what you want to read and there aren't nearly enough Banana Fish fics here.
> 
>  
> 
> **This fic will have no manga spoilers**
> 
>  
> 
> Also, this fic is loosely based on Breakfast At Tiffany's. But like, with more miscommunication

 

In the airplane Eiji almost ends up vomiting into his lap. Thankfully, he doesn‘t.  
  
When he steps out of the airplane it‘s 5 am and the sky hasn‘t decided on a color yet. It‘s still mixing blue and orange and pink together to find the right shade for this day before abandoning orange and pink completely to, hopefully, create a clear blue.  
  
America smells like gasoline and is concrete gray, but something in Eiji expands easily like a flower, and it makes him breathe freely for the first time in two months.  
  
He breathes in gasoline and imagines exhaling the remains of the Japanese air that sticks to the roof of his mouth.  
  
At the airport are more white people than he‘s ever seen. It feels like he dipped into an American movie where everything‘s glazed over like a pastry with a filter that makes everything soft and pretty and golden and unreal, making him want to stay here forever. It feels like he reverted back to a time where his dreams haven‘t died yet. Like he could grasp them here if he tried hard enough.  
  
He knows this isn‘t true.  
  
Ibe-san is waiting for him, and he needs to find a cab. The second time he really, really sees America it‘s yellow, shiny, bustling. Everything seems more vibrant, more alive here than in Japan where people walk with their eyes on the ground and no one dyes their hair in a yellow blonde or a shocking red.  
  
It takes a long time to find a cab; Eiji feels like he fell straight into a pit full of bees and the cabs are bees returning home, barely stopping on the side of the street before someone jumps in and together they drive off.  
  
It seems like Americans have a special sense for spotting indecisiveness; every time Eiji manages to make a cab stop in front of him, his hand lowering hesitantly, they stride past him to steal it. He wonders if he‘ll ever make it to Ibe-san like this, wonders if he worries, and worries about the time limit his mom gave him of 2 hours to call him once he arrived in America, threatening him that she would come to America herself to find him.  
  
It's nice to be alone for now, to not have his family fluttering around him the whole time with their pitying looks and the discussions they have late at night about him when they think he‘s asleep.  
  
The universe takes pity on him in the end because a taxi driver gets out of his car and smokes a cigarette, leaning against the hood of the car, and Eiji, sweaty and tired and a little angry at himself and the situation, becomes shameless enough to approach him during his break. The man blinks at him with weary eyes before he throws the cigarette stub on the ground. For Eiji that‘s enough of an invitation to get in the car.  
  
He‘s a little disappointed, even though he knows it‘s silly. The man is Asian, maybe Korean, tight-lipped and grouchy. When Eiji finally opens his mouth and mentions that it‘s his first time in America he only nods curtly and asks for the address again. In movies that sentence usually sparks an excited reaction, a laugh and a well-intended advice of some sorts.  
  
But in movies the drivers are kindhearted men, the type who never shave properly and remind Eiji of a father, someone with shoulders broad enough to carry their small daughter and a wallet that contains that one special picture he has of his family where his wife and children smile in a bright, heartwarming way. A picture perfect dad whose love for people even extends to lost, Japanese boys.  
  
They don‘t curse softly in a language Eiji doesn‘t understand and they don‘t step on the brake so violently that Eiji gets slammed into the seat belt, don‘t make him wonder if they actually have a drivers license. But maybe these man wouldn‘t lower the price by half and shoo him away with a dismissive hand movement, so maybe everyone has their own way of dealing with foreigners.  
  
He stares at the apartment complex with its bright walls, shadows of the trees lining the streets dancing over them, and the big dark green door on top of the stairs. And right then he can feel something gaping inside him, something that isn‘t bad or good. He doesn‘t know what to do with it just that he wants to remember this moment, so he quickly slings his backpack from his shoulder and rummages through his stuff until he finds his polaroid camera.  
  
He snaps a picture and shakes it as he climbs the stairs reverently, eyes on the forest green of the glossy wooden door. His fingers trail over the handrail.  
  
His smile falters when he doesn‘t find Ibe-san‘s name on the nameplates and turns around like someone could explain why that is. Eiji had enough hours to memorize the address, his worry about pronunciation and finding it making his mind desperate to hold onto something, but he‘s sure that this is the right address judging from the pictures Ibe-san sent him weeks before his decision to live with him in America.  
  
Eiji doesn‘t know what to do. He‘s pretty sure that if he goes to search for a phone booth now to call him he won‘t ever find back here. He reads the names again, carefully rolling the vowels soundlessly in his mouth, and then he notices a piece of paper, different from the other stamped in nameplates, a piece of paper in messy, eccentric handwriting. _Lynx._  
  
Eiji snorts and lifts his finger. Only to realize that he didn‘t just lightly touch it but actually pressed down on it for several long seconds. His blood freezes. The door hums uninviting like a taser. He shallows and opens the door.  
  
Inside it‘s empty and darker than expected. The house shallows him whole into its quiet belly. The outside world continues to bustle while the sun stretches tiredly over New York, but in here the air is suffocating and heavy like it‘s midsummer. He climbs the old stairs, cringing at each creak but marvels at the faint dents of feet in the worn down wood and the smooth shine of the handrail, polished from countless hands. It reminds him a little of his grandpas house. Eiji looks up and sees dust swirling through a sunbeam that cuts sharply into the wall, the dust raining down on him slowly like atomized water.  
  
His fingers itch to take a picture.  
  
Then; naked feet in his peripheral, twitching impatiently on the floor. There's a thump in his chest and something acid spreads; guilt and excitement.  
  
This will be his first real conversation with an American.  
  
He climbs the leftover stairs, puts the heavy bag down and then lets his eyes wander over naked feet, slim legs, the shock of a vibrant green satin robe, crossed arms, the deep v of the bathrobe and the milky white skin it reveals, a slim neck and then a scowl and a deep crease between pale eyebrows.  
  
He stares, somehow expecting him to greet him first.  
  
“What?“ he hisses and Eiji struggles for a few seconds to make sense of it.  
  
“Ah, um, I‘m new and-“  
  
“And you thought you could just come here without making an appointment first? Sorry to disappoint you but things don‘t work like this here,“ he sighs, his fingers digging into his biceps, “You do realize that it‘s- what, 7 am, 8?“ Eiji has no problems understanding his American accent, thank god, but he still feels like something important is being lost in translation here. He understands that his (probably) new neighbor thinks he came here for something specific and that he‘s pretty annoyed by him for waking him up. Naturally, Eiji‘s mind focuses on that last part.  
  
“I‘m really sorry for ringing you out of bed,“ he says, thinking about bowing for a split-second.  
  
His neighbor looks at him for a long, hard moment. His face is completely unreadable, and Eiji is suddenly very conscious of his own body as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He‘s sure that he‘s never seen a person with green eyes before. It kind of gives him an unsettling, otherworldly look alongside his pale skin and messy blonde hair. He looks like someone dipped him in bleach and washed out all his colors. His eyes remind him of grapes.  
  
Then he stretches his arm out towards the wall to something Eiji can‘t see, and hands him over something small and rectangle. “This is my card. That‘s my number,“ he says, grabs the edge of the card and tilts it to point his finger on a neat string of numbers, “And here,“ he says as he moves his fingers to another string of numbers and letters, “Are the times you can reach me.“  
  
“Thank you,“ Eiji says automatically.  
  
When he looks up he sees his neighbors eyes traveling down Eiji‘s body, his button nose wrinkling up and the corners of his mouth sagging with something akin to disgust. A wave of shame rolls over him.  
  
“Look, I think I'm not really in your… price range,“  
  
Eiji stares at him incredulous. Is he saying that he looks too poor to live here?  
  
“I think this is in my price range,“ he says angrily, and his neighbors eyes widen for a split-second before he narrows them. He leans forward, his voice taunting as he repeats “This?“  
  
Is it his own fault for apparently not understanding the language or is his soon to be neighbor being really irritating?  
  
“Could you just tell me if Ibe-sa- if Mr. Ibe is living here? He gave me this address but I couldn‘t find his name on the-“  
  
“He lives on the top floor,“ he says slowly, like he suddenly cares about Eiji understanding each word. Eiji barely manages to say _thank you_ as his neighbor closes the door in his face.  
  
He keeps standing there for a couple of seconds, completely stunned, staring at the closed door. _I hope not all Americans are like that_ , he thinks as he grabs his bag from the floor and hurries the stairs up (but not without turning around again to stick his tongue out towards the door and his horrible neighbor.)  
  
He lets out a heavy breath and clenches his teeth. On a dark wooden door at the very top of the stairs there's a white sheet of paper. Eiji almost sobs at the familiar Japanese letters that tell him to come in, written in Ibe-san‘s wonky handwriting and decorated by doodles so ugly that they could have only been made by Ibe-san.  
  
He sighs defeated. Ibe-san has this utterly careless streak, but strangely just when it‘s about himself. He‘s sure that if the situation had been reversed and Eiji would have done the same he would have to listen to Ibe-san ranting about security and creative burglars who use dictionaries. But then again, it‘s not likely to meet someone in America who reads Japanese. Probably. Eiji opens the door and puts his bag and backpack down when he‘s inside, groaning as he stretches his hands over his head and massages his neck.  
  
“Ibe-san?“ he calls and looks around.  
  
The space is surprisingly big and open, with bright white walls that give the room an airy feel. Eiji sighs and takes his shoes off before he puts them neatly side by side next to Ibe-san‘s shoes. It makes him smile, seeing their shoes next to each other once again after such a long time. Even when Eiji doesn‘t really feel welcome here yet, even when he‘s still unsure and worried about his future and living in America, these small things won‘t change. He doesn‘t belong here, but he belongs to Ibe-san and that at least won‘t change no matter where he goes.  
  
When he looks out of the window he notices that there's a small kitchen niche that connects to the living room, and he goes to prepare tea for Ibe-san for when he comes back. He‘s sure that he‘s already hurrying home, glancing at his watch again and again as if that would make the time change faster. Making tea is nothing but muscle memory, and his mind automatically wanders downstairs to the more or less eccentric neighbor.  
  
He can‘t help but feel like there was some sort of fundamental misunderstanding between them, but even now that whole situation is just as confusing to him as it was a couple of minutes ago. He knows that he was pretty rude, but being rude in response to being treated rudely can‘t really be that bad, right?  
  
Apologizing never seems necessary to him until the moment already passed, and only after days or weeks Eiji can admit that yes, he did make a mistake and yes, he really should apologize. Only that it‘s often too late for that already. Is he supposed to apologize or just laugh it off? Can he even act confident when that buy seems so weirdly intimidating? He sighs.  
  
There's a weight on his shoulders and Eiji yelps, shoulders hunched up as that _something_ moves around on his shoulders, and then it‘s gone. He watches with horror as the thing jumps away from him and descends on the counter top next him, letting out a breath he didn‘t realize he was holding.  
  
What is probably the ugliest cat he‘s ever seen stares straight into his eyes. He feels a weird pang of sympathy and pity at the soft wheezing noises it makes from its deformed nose, its only eye staring at him with interest as its bushy tail flops like a whip against the counter. Eiji has also never seen such a big cat before, and he wonders briefly what Americans feed their pets to make them look like that. Hesitantly he holds his palm up for the cat to sniff.  
  
It licks the tip of his finger with its scratchy tongue and Eiji smiles.  
  
Then the door blasts open and Eiji‘s mind jumps to creative and ambitious burglars with dictionaries before his mind jumps to a slightly more realistic version of an over enthusiastic and apologetic Ibe-san. He peers out of the kitchen and in the door stands his neighbor, raising his eyebrows as if Eiji was the one almost breaking in other peoples homes.  
  
Eiji immediately slips back in the kitchen to hide, just to realize that they made eye contact already and he can‘t climb out of the window, so he turns around himself, desperate for something to grab and pretend there's a reason why he fled from him a few seconds ago, his hands aimlessly fluttering from fridge to the tea pot before settling on the cat.  
  
He lifts it up and it goes without protest. It feels more like he‘s holding a very fluffy toddler than a cat, but Eiji kind of likes it.  
  
“Is something wrong?“ he asks as the walks over to his very tired neighbor, who just scrutinizes him harder than before.  
  
“You stole my cat.“ he accuses flatly.  
  
“It just jumped on me,“ It‘s almost admirable how Eiji manages to not roll his eyes even though he really wants to. It‘s irritating how his mouth just doesn‘t do what he wants it to do, how he knows how English should sound yet his body stubbornly decides to stick to the same rules it uses on Japanese.  
  
He steps closer. His neighbors eyes drop to the cat before he holds his arms out.  
  
“'It' is a he.“  
  
“I‘m sorry,“ Eiji says to the cat and tickles her under her chin, which he seems to really enjoy. “And I‘m sorry about back then too. I was pretty rude.“ Eiji says to his neighbor. He gives him another hard stare.  
  
“You wake me up, are rude to me and then you steal my cat. You really owe me a favor,“ Eiji thinks that if he said it a little differently it could have been a playful thing, something that would clear the air. But of course it‘s not.  
  
“Okay?“ he says unsure.  
  
For the first time, there‘s a smile. It's mild and soft, fizzing at the edges. But it looks good. It sort of looks more than good, more and more, and Eiji somehow feels like he just witnessed something special.  
  
Then he turns around and drops the cat on the floor, his hand touching the handrail lightly as he goes back to his apartment, the cat following him obediently.  
  
Maybe living here won‘t be that bad after all.

⏪ ⏬ ⏩

  
It‘s 8 pm when Ibe-san finally comes home.  
  
Eiji spent most of his time exploring the apartment. It‘s kinda weird seeing Ibe-san‘s stuff here, like walking into a room he‘s never been in just to be achingly familiar with all the stuff inside of it. Ibe-san has the habit of shutting himself in if he feels lonely or sad, and makes weird photos insisting that they have a deeper meaning. Or he reads melodramatic literature that can‘t be younger than the 19th century.

Eiji trailed his finger along the bookshelves that frame a little seating area around a little bend of the apartment, and after his fingers came back layered with dust he exhaled in relief. Apparently Ibe-san found friends here, or at least he has enough work to concentrate on.  
  
He wonders idly if it will be like that for him too. If becoming Ibe-san‘s assistant will change him, give him his purpose back. Eiji doesn‘t know how it feels not to get fully immersed in something so much that everything else falls away. Liking things in moderation just feels so pointless to him.  
  
Ibe-san greets him cheerfully and pulls him into a rough side hug, grasping the roundness of Eiji‘s shoulder hard.  
  
Eiji notices that he smells different now, his cologne muskier and more expensive, and it sticks to the roof of Eiji‘s mouth. The shoes in the entryway are new, made out of leather and almost unworn. There‘s an uncomfortable pinch at his heart. It feels like Ibe-san shrugged of his past easily, so easily that he gives Eiji the same kind of unfamiliar feeling Americans give him that sparks uncharacteristic shyness and awkwardness in him.  
  
They sit down on a table in front of the window, both of them sipping on their teas as the sun goes down. Only now does it start to sink in that Eiji actually left Japan. He‘s going to live here for months, his family and friends back home waiting for him.  
  
He breathes through the quiet ache, allows it to hurt.  
  
He notices that the rustling of Ibe-san‘s newspaper stopped some time ago. He looks up from his cup, comes back to the real world, and sees Ibe-san smiling at him from across the table.  
  
“What is it?“ he asks softly, the corner of his mouth twitching into something akin to a smile.  
  
“I‘m just really happy to see you again,“ Ibe-san says, “When I heard about your injury I was- shocked. I was so worried and wanted to come visit you in the hospital but I couldn‘t get away from work and- who does that?“ He bites his lip and frowns down at the table. “What if something happens to you again and I‘ll keep telling myself that you‘re fine and don‘t need my help even though you do?“  
  
Eiji‘s hand closes around Ibe-san‘s wrist, pressing reassuringly as if he wants to show him that he‘s still here. “It‘s okay that you didn‘t visit me,“ _I was too depressed to see any guests anyway_ , he doesn‘t say, “I was just lying around the whole day anyway, so there really wasn‘t a point in coming all the way to Japan just for that,“ Ibe-san startles, his shoulders rising and his mouth opening, without a doubt to tell him that he _is_ worth it, but Eiji silences him with a head shake.  
  
“And- I stopped pole vaulting now anyway. I won‘t do anything dangerous like that again,“ he adds quietly and looks down at their hands.  
  
“I thought- I thought you would be more heartbroken, more- aimless. I was prepared to nurture you back to health and happiness,“ Ibe-san laughs, and Eiji laughs with him, albeit wetly.  
  
“I am okay now,“ he says, and he thinks he means it, but the fact that he can‘t look Ibe-san in the eyes when he says it probably is answer enough.  
  
Ibe-san sighs. “When did you grow up so much?“  
  
Eiji braces his chin in his palm and turns his head, pressing his smile into his skin as he shrugs.  
  
He directs his gaze to the window. The big ugly cat sits on the fire escape and meows in sympathy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Ash is counting his money as he hears a hard, firm knock on the door. He stills in his movement and listens for another sound before neatly folding the money and putting them into a silvery cookie jar. Then he puts it in a hole under his bed and conceals it with a plank. It makes a creaking sound and Ash bites his lip, closing his eyes briefly in frustration as he curses in his head.  
  
He gets up from his knees, fighting the nausea, and goes to open the door for Dino and Arthur. _At least this time he didn‘t use the key_ , Ash thinks. It‘s another tiny controlled freedom Dino is granting him, and by the expectant look he gives Ash he probably even thinks he should get a reward for it.  
  
Ash leans the small of his back against his commode and crosses his arms above his chest.  
  
"Ash my darling," he says softly and cups Ash‘s jaw, his thumb on his cheekbone. "How are you?" he asks now whenever he comes to visit him. He knows Dino expects him to break down one day, to cling to his suit and go on his knees, crying and begging him to take him back to Dino‘s home because he just can‘t do this anymore. But the truth is he can. Sometimes he wonders if it should be harder here in the big bad city with no one to protect him, but it‘s not. Sex is always the same.  
  
"I‘m fine." he answers and turns his head away from his hand subtly.  
  
"I‘ve missed you," he says and leans in, and Ash knows he won‘t kiss him but his heart is a stupid thing, and despite the months he lived far away from Dino‘s greedy claws he‘s still not used to not being his plaything anymore that he can order around.  
  
"I‘m sorry for not being able to visit you. But how about you visit me for a change?" he asks, and his hand comes down on Ash‘s neck. "If you‘re not too busy with- ah, _clients_. " he adds with a grin that‘s so close Ash can see the glint of his teeth, can almost feel his mustache scratch over his skin.  
  
Ash smirks. "I‘m so sorry but I‘m _really_ busy lately, " he says with a pitiful cant of his eyebrows, and Dino‘s face twitches with something like delight. Ash can‘t help but ruin it and aim for his most sensitive spot. "We wouldn‘t want you to catch something from me," he says syrupy sweet, and Dino‘s smile doesn‘t fade. It never does. But he narrows his eyes, and Ash imagines two predators sizing each other up to find the place where it‘ll hurt them the most.  
  
It‘s strange how Ash is Dino‘s weak spot, and how he knows just how to exploit it. Making himself an undesirable, filthy thing means Dino doesn‘t take care of his property, it‘s an insult to his highclass taste.  
  
"Should I examine you thoroughly then?" he asks, all sharp and dangerous, and Ash grips his biceps tighter for a second before releasing it. He knows, every little shown weakness will be exploited. "Let‘s see…" he trails off and reaches his hand out towards Ash waist, only to grab something behind him. "It looks like you haven‘t stopped smoking even though I told you to."  
  
"I have trouble remembering all my clients wishes," he sneers and tilts his head. Dino‘s jaw locks, a twitch between his eyebrows, and then he hisses in pain as Dino‘s hand sneaks into the hairs at the back of his neck and tugs.  
  
"When will you finally stop acting so bratty," he sighs. He smells like cigars. In the background Arthur's face shifts- he‘s probably grinning that piece of shit\- but Dino‘s suspicious of any man that comes near Ash, so he always does his best to ignore him.  
  
The commode he leans against rattles as Estelle jumps on it. His big soft paws press against Ash‘s shoulder blades as he raises his hind legs and sniffs curiously on the back of Ash‘s head.  
  
"And this-" Dino says and finally stops grabbing Ash‘s hair to point at Estelle, "How often did I tell you that I don't want to see it?"  
  
_What is it with people lately calling him it_ , he wonders as he lifts Estelle up and just because he knows it will piss Dino off hides his smile in his fur.  
  
"Gosh you have so many rules for me that I couldn‘t possible remember them all, Dino," he scoffs.  
  
He‘s sure that Dino likes that in some weird, fucked up way; the way Ash sneers at him but is rarely outright rude and disrespectful but instead teeters on the edge of it. Dino‘s eyes follow every move to rip him up like a starved dog if he dares to lean too much to one specific side.  
  
"Ash," he sighs and reaches his hand out to touch him again but drops his hand when Estelle‘s head perks up, thinking he‘ll get pet. He thinks that if he wouldn‘t love Estelle already he would keep him just to annoy Dino.  
  
If Ash could frame that face and put it on every wall in New York and give at least a little comfort to those poor souls whose lives have been ruined by Dino; then Ash would smile wholeheartedly and laugh until his belly hurts and feel the years drop from his shoulders.  
  
"I told you I‘d buy any cat you want, tell me I should steal it from the president I don‘t care, I‘ll get you anything," he offers and Ash thinks that this is the same with the car he got from Dino. It‘s the same with the apartment and the beach house and the bodyguards who were more surveillance than anything else.  
  
Dino treats him like a dog; he puts effort into pleasing Ash, dismissively like throwing a dog a bone and expecting it to piss itself from happiness, and he‘s completely unprepared for the possibility that someone could reject him and all his fancy presents out of sheer pride. That someone sees how little Dino cares about the things he so easily gives others, that he sees no actual worth in them because Dino can have a million of the things he gives, and that someone who wears shoes that are more sock than anything else and hasn‘t had a warm shower in weeks would still turn their back when the world is given them on an open palm.  
  
Ash knows that his pride is precisely what protects him; if he loses Dino‘s interest it will be his downfall. He knows how he discards of old toys.  
  
"I like _this_ cat," he says and strokes over Estelle‘s back. Dino sighs and walks over to the window, his hands folded behind his back as he stares out to the bleak streets outside. He takes the opportunity to let his gaze drift to Arthur, sees his parted lips and this caught in the act look on his face, and Ash can‘t help but grin. Arthur‘s jaw clenches, and Ash grins even wider at how easy it is to rile him up.  
  
"You and your damn independence!" he suddenly bursts. In the echoing silence Estelle wiggles to be let down, and Ash looses his grip on him to not hurt him.  
  
It‘s strange how he‘s always more scared of Dino when he‘s smiling instead of when he‘s screaming.  
  
"You don‘t want my money, won‘t let me buy you a car, not even a damn cat..." Dino monologues like a villain, his posture and clothes and cigar breathe fitting all the big movie screen stereotypes. Except for the cat. He is purring in Ash‘s arms. Maybe they‘re both villains and in the cinema the music is swelling as the epic showdown is nearing. One of them would dramatically jump off a building or into the dark ocean depths. Ash imagines reaching his hands out, his fingertips spreading on Dino‘s shoulder blades like a plant seeking sunlight and warmth, and imagines pushing him through glass and wood and fucking brick until he bursts on the sidewalk like an egg.  
  
He feels sick.  
  
"You never ask me for anything, but-" he says and turns around, his smile giving Ash goosebumps just like the cocking of a gun would, "I decided to help you out despite you being so adamant on holding on to your newfound independence."  
  
"Help me out in what way?" he asks maybe a little too cautious because Dino‘s smile widens. He shows all his teeth, and Ash hugs Estelle just a little tighter.  
  
"You said you would provide for yourself. Which seems to work, but you should never forget who helped you. A flower can‘t grow in poisoned soil. I raised you, gave you protection and education and money. And now look at you."  
  
Ash wonders why he keeps comparing him to flowers when all he ever felt like was Frankenstein‘s monster. It makes sense he would be proud of the thing he created though.  
  
"Everyone wants you. And I want everyone to see you," he grins and suddenly looks at Arthur. He uncrosses his arms and reaches into his jeans pocket to hand Dino a piece of paper.  
  
Dino holds it between his fore- and middle finger. All Ash can make out is a phone number and the cursive handwriting of someone else. It surely isn‘t Dino‘s; he would know, has seen him sign checks and receipts, and Ash‘s hands are used to imitating it.  
  
"This is the number of a journalist I want you to meet. He writes a story about homosexuals in New York." Ash carefully wipes his face blank from any emotion Dino could pick up and trample on.  
  
"I expect you to advertise yourself a little," he says, and Ask imagines the ugly splat Dino‘s intestines would make on the floor. Ash focuses on a book that‘s sitting on a windowsill as Dino leans in and kisses Ash‘s cheek. His ears are ringing, and if they say something else to him he doesn‘t hear it. Arthur bumps into him on his way out, but he‘s too deep in something more smothering and dangerous that thoughts to push back.  
  
He stares until his eyes water; he puts Estelle on the commode and wipes his face with both hands to get rid of the wetness and the prickly feel of Dino‘s mustache.  
  
He sinks to the floor, the knobs of the commode digging uncomfortably into his back. A sunbeam cuts through the window and when he stretches his feet out the wood is warm beneath his toes. Estelle jumps from the commode and lies down between Ash‘s ankles, his whiskers bright from the sunlight.  
  
Ash hides his face in his hands and groans.  
  
"Estelle," he says between his fingers. He makes a noise that sounds like something between a purr and a meow, "I love you, Estelle," he says seriously and stares into his eye. For a split-second he thinks that he might understand him but then it‘s gone and Estelle sprawls on his back. Ash flexes his toes against the wood, chases the light beam that wanders through the room.

  
  
⏪ ⏬ ⏩

  
  
On Eiji‘s fifth day he‘s still not entirely sure if he likes or dislikes America.  
  
He can‘t really think of bad things, but things are just – different here. It‘s not just that when they leave the apartment Eiji trails after Ibe-san like a lost puppy in this ocean full of white people and it‘s not just how he knows that he‘s so very different in the way he looks and speaks and acts and even lives and thinks to the majority of the people living here. He feels better once they‘re out of the more expensive neighborhood as they venture deeper into the heart of New York. But even then the variety punches him in the gut. Everyone is constantly moving moving moving, their English a blurred background noise.  
  
It‘s embarrassing, but when his mind drifts off and he hears someone speak English he still looks around to find the foreigner just like he would do at home; even though he is the one who‘s foreign here.  
  
He doesn‘t miss home yet, still does‘t feel the ultimateness of his decision and the ache of physical distance between everyone he knows and loves. But he knows that it‘s waiting somewhere to come to him in a moment when he‘s unprepared and alone, like shells get left behind on empty beaches.  
  
Eiji fumbles for that feeling sometimes when they‘re sitting in a cab and Ibe-san‘s mind is long gone because it's busy to think of great, great artistic things, and Eiji is left alone to stare at the streets. He fumbles for it and it‘s right there, quiet and harmless. It still puts him on edge.  
  
Maybe he doesn‘t feel that way yet because he has Ibe-san with him who has a natural talent for noticing Eiji‘s slight melancholic mood swings. And when Eiji smiles and nods curtly and pretends to be okay Ibe-san gives him a chore, presses something into his hands so he can do something, and Eiji is grateful but also determined to not let it show anymore, vows to tuck it further beneath his rip cage so Ibe-san won‘t have to see it.  
  
When they get home from work Ibe-san always immediately sprawls out on the couch and yawns into his hand. He doesn‘t even take his shoes of, a thing he learned from Americans that makes Eiji cringe.  
  
"Ei-chan," He hears him say as Eiji rummages under the sink for something to wipe the floor with. It‘s that voice he uses when he suffers, for when he wants to make sure that everyone knows just how tired he is and how he can‘t and won‘t move for the next hour.  
  
"Yes?" he says as he crosses his arms on the back of the couch and peers over it to look at Ibe-san.  
  
"I thought it would be nice to take the next week of," he says, his eyes glinting. He empties his face to something blank even though he never does that, and that seems to be the first mistake because he sees the space between Ibe-san‘s eyebrows twitch.  
  
"I know you came here to be my assistant but it‘s important to not only focus on work."  
  
"You‘re such a hypocrite!" Eiji laughs.  
  
"I know I‘m not the best person to tell you that but I‘m serious," he admits, "You‘re young. You need to live a little! Who knows," he adds and smirks, "Maybe you‘ll find a nice American girl, and-" Eiji shuts him up as he throws a pillow into his face and pretends to smother him with it, Ibe-san‘s legs kicking in the air as he laughs.  
  
"Am I interrupting something?"  
  
Eiji yelps. His neighbor‘s mouth twitches, and Eiji feels his ears burn.  
  
Meanwhile, Ibe-san has lifted the pillow of his face, grinning widely with disheveled hair and panting as he exclaims "Ash!"  
  
"Good afternoon Mr. Ibe," he says softly as he tucks his hair behind his ear, "There‘s something I would like to discuss with you," he says, all sweet like condensed milk.  
  
"Of course," Ibe-san hurries to say and swings his legs off the couch to make room for him to sit. He pats the new made space beside him with a smile. "Don‘t tell me you finally came to let me take pictures of you," he says teasingly.  
  
"That was a good guess," he hears him say when Eiji walks to the kitchen to make some tea, the hiss of the kettle so loud he can barely make out any other words.  
  
Eiji wonders if he‘s wearing the kimono on purpose, but he can‘t deny that it looks good on him, the tightly tied rope enhancing his slender build. He‘s not entirely sure if he should be listening to the conversation. But then again, if it‘s about work Eiji will certainly be involved in some way.  
  
"...So that‘s why I‘m asking you." He hears when he reenters the living room and sits on the armrest of the couch, which is surprisingly uncomfortable.  
  
"And the pictures will probably be a little- you know," he explains and waves his hand around in the air. The sleeve of his kimono slips down and reveals the pale skin of his underarm. Eiji forces himself to look away.  
  
He stares at the floor and spaces out, wondering what he means with _you know_ , and then he notices Ibe-san‘s leather shoes beside his neighbors ballerinas, the delicate smallness of them. He sighs as he slips from the couch and sinks to the floor to take Ibe-san‘s shoes off. Of course Ibe-san doesn‘t even stop talking, too enthusiastic about location and theme to notice what‘s happening around him.  
  
Eiji looks up and meets the grape eyes of his neighbor, and he stills in his movement. He‘s watching Eiji with some sort of quiet wonder, his impenetrable face dusted with fascination like someone sprinkled glitter on concrete.  
  
"Who is that?" he asks and points at Eiji. He stands up abruptly and ignores the embarrassing noise his joints make as he brings the shoes to the entrance.  
  
"Ah, you don‘t know each other yet," Ibe-san laughs. Eiji feels a weird, petty gratification because _that‘s right, I didn't talk about our first meeting at all, you‘re that unimportant._  
  
"This is Eiji Okumura. He‘s my assistant, so he‘ll help with the photo shoot," he explains and gestures to the whole of Eiji like he‘s trying to sell a shitty car to an unimpressable customer.  
  
"And this is Ash Lynx. He really helped me when I first came to New York, so I owe him a lot."  
  
"Nice to meet you Eiji," he says and smiles that mild, mild smile as he reaches his hand out languidly like a cat. Eiji meets him halfway and gives his dainty hand a firm shake. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Lynx."  
  
"You can call me Ash, I don‘t mind."  
  
Eiji looks at their joined hands. "Okay," he says, and then adds "Ash."  
  
Ash‘s smile loses a little of it‘s mildness and Eiji can‘t say he dislikes it.  
  
"Ah, but I took the week off from work," Ibe-san says suddenly. Ash‘s eyes unlatch themselves from Eiji‘s, and he can feel the absence like a tempature drop or the discharge of lightning nearby. "You see, Eiji‘s never been to America and I wanted to show him around. So if you want those pictures this week you‘ll need to bribe Eiji first," he laughs boisterously.  
  
„So I just need to convince Eiji?“  
  
„Oh, Ei-chan is surprisingly stubborn.“  
  
Eiji kind of hates how they talk about him as if he‘s not there. The kettle clicks, and Eiji goes to prepare the tea and puts it all on a tray, but when he comes back Ash already got up from the couch.  
  
"I need to go," Ash says and then turns to Ibe-san and throws the word "Work," over his shoulder as if that explains everything.  
  
Eiji nods and then Ash stands in front of him. He reaches his hand out and wraps his fingers around Eiji‘s biceps, such an unexpected gentle touch Eiji almost flinches. "See you later," he says lowly. Eiji feels the small of his back prickling. He doesn‘t even get to respond before the door closes.

Eiji's mouth is dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I really didn't think I would be able to write so much in the last couple of days but you're all?? So nice?? And I promised to write more words when you write me some and I NEED TO KEEP THIS PROMISE! So you know what you need to do if you want me to write chapters fast *wink wonk*
> 
> (Also nope, I didn't make a mistake with the cat's name and I know that the cat is a boy. IT'LL BE EXPLAINED LATER I PROMISE)
> 
> THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL FEATURE MORE GAYNESS WOHOO


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I decided to put the phoshooting in later chapters so this chapter won't be as gay as I promised lhrgfjhgarlhlerhg

  
Ash doesn‘t mean to pry.  
  
That would be completely ironic; wailing over the breach of his own privacy while he‘s doing exactly the same. It‘s just that Eiji seems unable to wait for the click that confirms the safety and privacy of a closed door. He knows that this neighborhood doesn‘t really have a problem with robberies or burglars. The biggest danger would probably be a tenant who sneaks into bed with vulnerable Japanese teenagers.  
  
Ibe‘s laugh resonates through the living room, a boisterous thing that makes the corner of Ash‘s mouth twitch. Who would have thought that the world is so small that it would reunite old college friends?  
  
He briefly considers if this is Dino‘s doing, but then discards it.  
  
Ibe talks about some Jessica, the drinking party they had at John‘s place. And then he mentions a time and a place. He ends the call, and Ash can hear some rustling before he opens some creaking door. Eiji‘s pitiful wailing as he protests the opening of the curtains can be heard all the way to the door.  
  
He hears footsteps and tries to be as quiet as possible as he walks quickly to the little niche the door to the attic is tucked in. Ibe whistles along to some melody as he goes down the stairs, his shoes clacking all the way down like the nails of an excited, eager puppy.  
  
He comes out of his hiding spot and considers coming back later. But then he remembers their first meeting and drums his fist into the door. He waits so long that he already raises his fist to knock again as the door finally opens, and Ash barely manages to conceal his satisfied smile as Eiji blinks petulantly up at him, his hair sleep soft. His sweater is a couple sizes too big, and Ash raises his eyebrows before he files that back for later and puts on a syrupy sweet smile.  
  
“I think my cat is here,“ he says and then adds:“Again.“ Eiji blinks up at him and turns his head as if his cat would magically appear if he just looked hard enough.  
  
“I didn‘t hear anything,“ Eiji says, a pinch between his eyebrows, and Ash thinks that‘s kinda a strange thing to say.  
  
“Well, he‘s smart and doesn‘t want to be found, of course he‘s trying to stay quiet,“ he explains, “Can I come in and look for him?“  
  
“Eh, sure,“ Eiji says and steps aside, looking marginally more awake now than just seconds before. “What is the name of your cat? Maybe he‘ll come out if we call him?“  
  
If only he knew that Estelle is locked in the bathroom and probably takes revenge for that by throwing all his stuff off the counter.  
  
“Oh, he responds to any name,“ He throws over his shoulder as he peeks into the kitchen niche to look for an imaginary cat.  
  
“Wait, so… he doesn‘t have a name?“ Eiji asks, and as Ash turns around he‘s almost surprised at how confused he looks. _His dark eyebrows frame his face nicely and make him very expressive_ , Ash notes.  
  
“Of course he has a name,“ he answers and puffs out a laugh, “He used to be a stray cat and it felt like a great responsibility to name him, because I thought that the name I would give him would be the first he ever had,“ his placid smile falters a little, so he turns around the little corner and peers into the reading corner.  
  
“I even thought about buying one of these books with baby names for him,“ he laughs, “But he responded to whatever I called him, so I decided to name him depending on my mood. Like, when I‘m not angry at him and want to pet him I call him Estelle and when he‘s being a little shit I call him Harold,“ He hears a snort behind him and the corner of his mouth tugs upwards like on command, “He has other names too but I change them up all the time,“ His gaze flutters over Eiji and is caught on his smile.  
  
“That‘s – cute,“ he settles on, and just looks at Ash. No awkward small talk, no asking unnecessary questions, no exaggerated reaction. He doesn‘t know what he‘s supposed to do with that simple _that‘s cute_ , and as he thinks about a response and looks into Eiji‘s face his hands clench uselessly at his sides, and it‘s no use so he starts moving again and goes to the bedroom.  
  
“I don‘t get what‘s so cute about this but-“ his eyes grow wide, “Do you sleep on the floor with Ibe?“ he asks and points at the bedding in the middle of the room.  
  
“Yes, it‘s a futon,“ Eiji calls from somewhere and Ash raises his eyebrows. He closes the door and finds Eiji in the kitchen, brewing tea. His hands clench again as he sees Eiji‘s only wearing a pair of boxer briefs under a large sweater as he leans up to retrieve two mugs from the wall cupboard. He focuses on his eyebrows when he turns around, and tries not to feel uncomfortable.  
  
He knows Eiji is not like that. But his body is a stupid thing with other things ingrained into it.  
  
“I guess… you have a lot of space then?“ he asks carefully, unsure if he‘s crossing a line as Eiji stirs sugar into his tea, “For you two?“  
  
“Yes, it‘s eh- really spacious,“ Eiji mutters, his hand clutching the edge of the counter as he sips from his tea and stares out of the little window, even though both of them know that there‘s nothing worth looking at out there.  
  
_Is he embarrassed?_ Ash wonders, and mutters out a quiet  “Aha.“  
  
Ash looks out the window too, wishing he had a cup of tea too. Between them fizzles a strange kind of tension, charged with nervousness and static silence, a thing so different from the danger that lies in words unsaid.  
  
“Oh god, I‘m sorry,“ Eiji splutters, and Ash‘s head whips around, “I made you tea but, uh, I forgot,“ he explains. Ash smiles gratefully and takes the cup, muttering a quiet _thank you_. Their hands look strange together somehow. They‘re not the hands of men yet, and it strikes Ash as something he hasn‘t seen in a long time. Someone who‘s almost his age.  
  
He sips on the tea and looks out the window again. The sun slowly crawls up the counters, makes the faucet gleam, and the rough texture of the red brick wall across their building becomes visible. A quiet peacefulness wraps around Ash like a blanket, and hesitantly he lets himself sink into the feeling. He doesn‘t think about the things he still has to do, the people he has to call, places he has to show up, the things he needs to organize and orchestrate. It almost feels like he woke up early with his roommate, and soon has to navigate himself through the urban jungle to get to his workplace. Maybe even to his high school.  
  
“Did you find him yet?“ Eiji asks, and Ash already shakes his head before he finishes that question.  
  
“Looks like he‘s not here,“ he says and smiles apologetic. Eiji nods absentmindedly and sips from his tea. Ash notices that he likes that Eiji seems to be comfortable around him, enough to relax his shoulders and not be on guard. He‘s not used to people not looking straight into his face, and he likes the short window of time he has to look at Eiji. _He‘s handsome_ , he notices, _the more you look at him the more noticeable it becomes._  
  
Ash can‘t stop staring at the slope of Eiji‘s chin. Eiji turns his head and a light beam cuts through his iris, making the dark brown light and see through. Ash can‘t think of anything that could compare to this sight, and strangely, he doesn‘t even mind.  
  
“Ash?“  
  
He startles. “Oh, I wanted to ask about the photo shoot,“ he says a little too quickly. Eiji raises his eyebrows.  
  
“What about it?“  
  
Ash puts on a wide smile and leans forward. “Ibe said I would have to bribe you. So consider this as bribing.“  
  
“I don‘t understand,“ Eiji says slowly.  
  
“Remember when I told you you owe me a favor? On your first day here?“ Eiji opens his mouth but Ash interrupts him with:“So the favor I want to ask of you would be that you shoot some pictures of me. I know you took some time off from work, so let‘s make a deal.“  
  
“I don‘t-“  
  
“In exchange,“ Ash interrupts and has a little too much fun making Eiji furrow his brows in irritation, “I could show you New York. I‘ve been living here almost all my life, so I know the good spots.“  
  
Eiji opens his mouth, closes it and puffs out a frustrated little breath as he looks out the window again, the morning light illuminating the hairs on his chin and jaw.  
  
“Okay,“ he says and shrugs.  
  
“Great,“ Ash grins and puts the mug down, already moving towards the door, “I talked with Ibe about everything already so just tell him that you agreed, okay? The interview is today, so it would be great if you came over later to talk, at lets say… 9pm? And the photo shooting tomorrow, okay?“ he rattles down, only his head peeking into the apartment as he‘s already out the door. Eiji moves his hand and opens his mouth, the furrow of his brows indicating that this is _not_ okay, but Ash already says  “Okay till later then!“ and quickly closes the door, biting his lip to stop himself from grinning as he sprints down the stairs.  
  
Maybe he‘ll come to like this new neighbor.

  
  
⏪ ⏬ ⏩

  
  
Ash turns his head to hide his smile into his palm as Max Lobo stutters over the word _sex position_ for the third time, his broad face reddening. Ash can‘t really tell if it‘s out of embarrassment or anger, but either way, it‘s quite funny to look at.  
  
“Do you want to ask me what my favorite sex position is?“ he asks, puts his elbows on his knees and braces his head on both hands. Lobo looks up like he got caught doing something bad, a negative answer seemingly on his lips already even when both of them know what the answer is.  
  
“Yes,“ he admits quietly, his eyebrows furrowing as he studies the questions on his notepad like he hopes the letters will miraculously shift and form a question that‘s somehow less personal and private.  
  
“Well,“ Ash says and leans back on the couch, “I really like being on my knees, so I would say from behind, even though I‘m open to everything.“  
  
Lobo presses his lips together into a thin line and hesitantly stretches his hand out to press a button on the dictaphone.  
  
“Are we done?“ He knows that it‘s not Lobo‘s fault that he‘s asking these questions, knows that Lobo is just a small man under the thumb of a man with more power than him. They‘re the same, in a way.  
  
“I‘m sorry,“ he says and looks like he had these words wrung out of him.  
  
“I agreed to the interview, didn‘t I?“ he responds, tone flat. His eyes fall to the bright red of his cigarette box, and he feels the slight urge to light one. But then again, if Dino isn‘t here to see that he‘s disobeying his orders then what‘s the point?  
  
“Yes, but I thought-“ Lobo suddenly bursts, his hands clenching into fists on his knees, “I wanted to do a story about homosexuals, and I wanted to show that you‘re normal people and just- I don‘t know, take the fear from people, but this-“ he flings the notepad on the couch table.  
  
“This isn‘t what I wanted at all!“  
  
Tense silence stretches between them, and Ash wonders why so many good people seem to gather around him lately.  
  
“Then why ask me stuff like this?“  
  
“You have to understand-“ he sighs and runs his hands through his short hair, “I told my boss about wanting to do this interview and he said he would be okay with it, and he let me do my thing because he knows that‘s how I work best- but suddenly he comes in yesterday and hands me these questions, tells me to use them or he fires me, so really- what was I supposed to do?“ he says and Ash rolls his eyes.  
  
He‘s so tired of this whole victim jappering, all that talk that only serves the purpose to shift the blame onto someone else shoulders. No matter who pulled the trigger everyone will say that it was an order from some nameless, faceless higher up, the boss of the world who lives in a castle, isolated but all seeing, fists drumming into his front door and the shrill ringing of his phone he never picks up resonating through the blank space he owns. The one and only scapegoat.  
“I guess you‘re not such a big shot,“ he laughs and Lobo‘s face gets red.  
  
“Be careful what you say-“ he leans forward, threatening, and Ash can feel his heart in his throat- but then, strangely, Lobo leans back like that little burst of emotion cost him all his strength. He slumps against the back of the couch and rubs his face with both hands. It makes an ugly scratchy sound, like sandpaper, and Ash cringes inwardly because he knows how that three-day stubble would feel against his cheek, his chest or between his legs.  
  
“You know what? You‘re right. I should have refused.“ He huffs out a desperate little laugh. “Really, all these questions are about sex. I honesty think it would be better to not publish this.“  
  
_Am I supposed to pity you now?_ Ash thinks and hardens inwardly, but finds his insides too softened by his words, finds himself too similar to someone who is just another token in someone else‘s game.  
  
Lobo might be melodramatic and terribly  unproffesional but he has a good heart. Maybe Ash could be a little nicer.  
  
“I‘m sorry for destroying your dream of becoming a world-famous journalist who reveals all sorts of injustices in this bad, bad world,“ he sneers and crosses his arms over his chest. Lobo doesn‘t even react. His frown only gets deeper, like he wants to protest but Ash hit the nail on the head.  
  
“It‘s not like you had a chance to do that anyway,“ he continues, “Who do you think made your apparently so open-minded boss suddenly change his opinion and make this a pointless interview about sex?“ Ash leans forward and taps his finger against the notepad.  
  
“This-“ he says and taps against it, “This is the result of a sugar daddy who invites his friends over to play with his favorite toy,“ he spits, anger flaring in his stomach.  
  
“When you say sugar daddy-“ Lobo‘s voice is unsure,“Do you mean- your sugar daddy?“  
  
“Something like that,“ he mutters and wonders if his ties with Dino can ever be severed completely or if they‘ll always be connected in some way. Dino is a loose thread that belongs to Ash‘s story, and if he tries to pull him out of it he would unravel the whole ugly truth.  
  
The sun warms his back and through the open window float noises and smells, the heady sweetness of a florists flowers and the bell-like laughter from women. The silence is long enough to lead his thoughts astray, and he suddenly thinks that maybe he‘ll get a letter soon.  
  
When he was younger he always used to pray for Griff‘s letters to come sooner, his nails making dents into his skin as he knelt in front of his bed and prayed with fingers intertwined like the good, good children from the church he can barely remember in the town he grew up in. But he remembers someone‘s funeral and how the rotten, sweet stench of death stuck to the roof of his mouth and how dizzy he got in all that heated, blaring whiteness because he refused to breathe in deeply, like death was an infectious thing that could poison his young body.  
  
Ash startles; Lobo‘s been talking for a while. He shouldn‘t have drunk before coming here.  
  
“I can help you-“ are the words he hears when he tunes in again, and he laughs, a sound that breaks in his throat and slithers over the floor like an ice cube. Everytime this happens he gets scared; someone will find out his real age and call him out on all his lies. How strange that the body he learned to use so well still dares to betray him.  
  
“Look, Lobo, your boss was bribed. You‘re not dealing with some small-time criminal, this is bigger than you, bigger than me,“ he explains and finds it very hard to look him in the eyes. “There‘s no way you can help me.“ And he means to make it sound flippant, easy, but his chin trembles and the words tumble clumsy out of his mouth on shaky legs.  
  
He bites his lip as punishment.  
  
“We‘ll see,“ Lobo says quietly. He knows, in a few minutes he has to get up, has to try not to stagger and go home to get ready. His shoulders weigh 50 tons suddenly, too heavy to even shrug. He would rather keep sitting here with the sun in his back and laughter in his ear and silence between them thick like fabric and listen to Lobo‘s half promises and well-meant anger.  
  
When Ash stopped praying to receive Griff‘s letters he got one the very next week. So Ash concluded to never hope for something would be the best thing so he wouldn‘t be disappointed in the end. Lobo‘s eyes bore into his face with steely determination and Ash smothers hope, concerned how it‘s routine already.

Nothing is good but he can endure everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to stay in the hospital for a couple of weeks so updates will probably take a little longer, so I'm really sorry for that! And thank you so much for the comments!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Mentions of a sexscene

Nothing good ever comes out of it when he thinks about Cape Cod.  
  
He imagines a lake, every thought and memory tucked away in the depths of it, safe and hidden from onlookers. For anyone else, the lake looks unmoving and impassive, and even if something breaks through the smooth surface it evens out again soon after. Only Ash knows what is going on under the surface, knows that everything that falls into it gets absorbed, but never forgotten. But life is happening in the outside world. Children dirty their pants when they roll around in the grass, men hunt for animals in forests and never look back to the footsteps they left in the soft moss, women take what the earth gives and create something else only for it to vanish in the hungry mouths of their loved ones.  
  
If Ash thinks about his past- of Dino‘s hands that smelled like cigars, or the way Griffin always rubbed absentmindedly on his earlobe when he was solving crossword puzzles- then it always feels like someone is stirring the water of the lake like it‘s a pot of soup, stirring and stirring and stirring until dead things begin to resurface, and the water becomes brown and muddy from sand. In that muddled mess, even Ash can‘t see anything.  
  
So Ash doesn‘t think about it. Whenever he feels that pressing feeling in his chest, he takes a deep breath and imagines the lake in front of him, conjures up the image of its mirror flat surface. Sometimes, even the memories of Griffin need to be sunken in the depths of it, because humans love to live comfortably, and pain is a hindrance in that pursuit. They sink until the ripples of the water stopped- just so he can bring them up again with stained fingers, desperate in the quiet of the night because he can‘t remember the shade of Griffin‘s hair, his eyes or the way he said his name, and he goes half mad with fear.  
  
If he‘s feeling like that, he always throws his cigarettes out of the window, and he wonders if he would even recognize Griffin if he would turn up at his door. The war and the years probably changed him just like they changed Ash. Even though the war he‘s fighting is a different one from Griffin‘s.  
  
It would be foolish to not admit that some things are easier to sink and hide in the waters than others. Some memories can swim, and curiosity forces Ash to remember. Ash doesn‘t know how old he‘s in that memory, doesn‘t even remember the season, but he remembers dipping into the waters of Cape Cod, letting his body relax and sink until he could feel how the water become cold at his feet and calves, sunbeams dipping into the water like hands into hair, and how easy it was to confuse the burn from the lack of oxygen with heartache, the same heartache he felt when he caught his dad and Jenny slow dancing and how the snow stuck to Jenny‘s clothes made it looks like she was wearing a wedding dress. The water in his ears produces sounds he would later imagine the stars made in space when a rocket pushes them aside to fly to the moon.  
  
He doesn‘t remember the memory ending or even coming up for air. Maybe that‘s why he still feels so drawn to that moment. Maybe a part of him died there. It would explain why the thought of hell only makes him scoff; it can‘t be worse than on earth.  
  
But now, Ash sinks himself into the blue depths of Cape Cod as Mike‘s hands frame his waist like a belt and his thumb strokes almost lazy over the jutted out edge of his ripcage. He clicks his tongue as he slips into the familiar habit of examining the product. A shiver runs up his spine as Mike gingerly strips him off his robe, the soft hiss as it flutters to the floor accompanied by the steady beat of his heart.  
  
Ash breathes in, holds the water in his lungs despite the sting as Mike walks around him, examines what he bought for a dent, a mark, something he can point at and complain about to get a lower price. He hasn‘t been careless; as soon as Mike had made the appointment he hadn‘t met anyone else in the past week, which gave his body enough time to let every mark vanish and make him appear untainted.  
  
Ash wonders how his body would look if bruises didn‘t heal, if pain would be as visible to others as the color of his skin. He wonders if his whole body would be bruised blue, without it ever fading from blue to green to yellow.  
  
He knows what he‘s doing; letting each morbid thought come to the surface to make the morbid thing happening pale in comparison.  
  
Maybe some part of him used the appointment as a pretense to take a break from work because he‘s fraying at the seams, and the water becomes dark and dark and dark and Ash can‘t afford this now.  
  
He thinks of being under water, thinks of sun rays that look like they could be touched, thinks of the coldness. He opens his eyes.  
  
Ash follows Mike‘s routine gladly, almost thankful that there even is such a thing as routine, something that gives him time to mentally prepare of what‘s to come, because he‘s so used to men taking what they need from him, their impulsiveness something that harmed him more than it did him good.  
  
He remembers being suddenly taken out to eat ice cream in the central park with Mike, the irritation as they sat down at a bank and his feet didn‘t reach the floor while his did. He remembers jerking away as the same hand that had hit a milk tooth out of his mouth just 2 days previous now tenderly swipe his thumb over the corners of his mouth, the same way Ash saw other adults do with their children. He remembers the surprise of the sting the ice cream caused in the cuts at the corners of his mouth, something he was responsible for too since he loved hooking his thumbs into his cheeks and pull him closer.  
  
Routines are safe.  
  
Mike wraps his hand around his wrist and tugs him to the bedroom. Estelle darts past them. He closes the door, and sinks to the ground of the ocean.

  
  
⏪ ⏬ ⏩

  
  
The most painful thing is always the afterwards. Trying desperately to get as much air into his lungs as possible as his body wakes up from the self infused trance he put himself into.  
  
He turns his head, his throat dry as he sees the bills Mike left for him on his pillow. 900 bucks.  
  
Ash remembers a time where Mike would give him 2 or even 3 thousand bucks, how he used to be the only regular so gentle and generous in comparison to others that Ash slipped his new address and phone number into his coat pocket as soon as he made the plan to get himself a place. Dino was nothing but a pimp, and if Ash wanted to really save up some money he needed to earn it just for himself instead of filling the pockets of men who loved to lay their hands onto their precious goods.  
  
Ash knows that Mike finds him less and less attractive, knows he‘s not gay but instead a pervert who likes young boys. He‘s interested in innocence and youth, something Ash loses each day, with each new client. He remembers Mike pressing him onto the bed and blowing raspberries into his stomach, and how his squealed laughter felt foreign and good in his mouth. Now, he‘s not allowed to make a sound, because the possibility of his voice breaking, of showing a sign of being a teenager, is something despicable in Mike‘s eyes.  
  
With each new appointment, something changed in Mike‘s eyes. It seems as if he can‘t separate Ash and his wife anymore, the pictures he showed Ash years ago now discarded, his wallet empty of pictures, and each loving word now replaced with a slur that gives a hint to a hate lingering inside him that‘s just as intense as the love he gave her.  
  
He should consider himself quite lucky actually that no one has fallen in love with him, considering how fast these strong emotions can turn into the opposite.  
  
He turns onto his back and groans at the pain of his lower back. Mike likes folding him like a pretzel, completely disregarding how flexible he actually is. He leans over the edge of the bed, teeth clenching as one hand flies reflexively to the small of his back and the other grabs blindly for the whiskey flask he hides under his bed.  
  
Mike hates it when he drinks, probably because it‘s just another sign of impurity. Ash would love to throw him his fucked up morals back into his face, would love for his face to turn pale and then red.  
  
When he drinks, he feels how the alcohol bites into his chapped lips. What he doesn‘t feel is a beard pricking into his soft flesh, doesn‘t feel the sting of a bruise or the gaping emptiness of his body and his chest, the universe both seem to want to shallow up until there‘s nothing left.  
  
It‘s a disgusting greediness that reminds him that he could end up just like these men. Trying to still the hunger in body and mind through someone else.  
  
Why is the only cure to loneliness other people?  
  
The whiskey gives him his body back, fuzzy and soft, and the only thing Ash has to give in return are the sharp outlines of his dresser, of the square the four walls of his bedroom create. It‘s a ridiculous small price to pay. His hand tilts; the bottle bursts on the floor and Ash frowns at the sound. He half expects his dad to storm in, angry, or Griffin, worried.  
  
His hand goes slack over the edge of the bed, and everything loses it‘s sharpness. And that‘s nice too, in a way.  
  


⏪ ⏬ ⏩

  
  
There are no cicadas in New York.  
  
Which makes sense since it‘s still too early for them to enrich the world with their songs. But it‘s weird when he thinks about the fact that he won‘t hear them this year and disrupt a routine that‘s been 19 years in the making.  
  
Eiji sighs and leans back against the bench. He closes his eyes.  
  
Not even in his wildest fantasies could he have predicted the drastic changes he would experience. His life contains everything a drama movie would need: the failings of an aspiring young athlete and the following loss of hope, the drastic change in environment thanks to a friend living abroad. The only things that‘s missing is a romantic subplot.  
  
But Eiji has trouble thinking of himself as the hero who will whisk away the beautiful heroine. If anything, maybe Ash would fit into such a scenario, with his handsome face and a complex personality. He can almost see the tendons of his underarm flexing as they wrap around the narrow waist of the faceless heroine-  
  
He opens his eyes. If he wants to keep his promise to Ash he really should get going.  
  
Even though the whole thing was definitely orchestrated from Ash, Eiji still feels responsible in some way. The thought of leaving him hanging, of Ash waiting and waiting for him in his apartment with only his cat as company makes Eiji so deeply uncomfortable that he immediately starts to pick up his walking speed.  
  
Only when he sees the familiar apartment building his hurried steps slow down. What if Ash wasn‘t serious about it? Or what if he forgot?  
  
And again stirs the thought of Ash in his apartment all by himself things in his chest he doesn‘t want to examine too closely.  
  
The corridor smells like stale air, and the eerie silence as the noises from the street are swallowed up makes the hairs on his arms stand. A shadow moves over the stairs and the walls, accompanied by a slight thud. Eiji‘s fingers itch to take a picture of the moth dancing, but like so often he‘s sure that whatever picture he‘ll take will not come close to capture the real life experience.  
  
He knocks on Ash‘s door and flinches when he hears a loud thud. A couple of tense seconds go by, and the door doesn‘t open. So Eiji raises his hand to knock again, a little louder this time. He hears Estelle scratching on the other side of the door. Then, steps.  
  
The door opens with a creak and Eiji can barely make out the tip of Estelle's tail as he darts into the staircase. Eiji blinks up at Ash and almost jerks at the grim look of his face.  
  
Wordlessly he turns around, and Eiji takes the fact that he left the door open as the only indication that he‘s allowed to come in. With a heavy sigh Ash sinks down onto the couch, and his body looks like he was poured down like molten metal.  
  
Eiji closes the door behind him, and as the yellow light of the hallway falls away, Ash‘s apartment is shrouded in fuzzy darkness that reminds Eiji of the moment where a TV is turned off, the static making pricking sounds in the following quietness. It smells faintly of smoke. Clothes rustle, a lighter clicks; Ash summons fire at the tip of his fingers, a cigarette wedged between the red of his mouth. He takes a long drag, and then his eyes snap to Eiji almost judging, like he knows he‘s being observed but still indulges him.  
  
His stare is hard as the light reflects in his eyes. Eiji feels pinned to the spot.  
  
“You woke me up,“ Ash says. The softness of his voice doesn‘t fit with the steel of his gaze. “I feel like this is starting to become a habit of yours.“  
  
“I‘m sorry,“ Eiji says immediately, “But you told me to come over and talk about the photo shoot,“ A weird heat crawls up the back of his neck.  
  
“Ah,“ Ash says and blows a string of smoke out of his mouth. Eiji can‘t stop looking at this swollen lips, “That was just an excuse. Everything is set up already for tomorrow.“  
  
Eiji furrows his brows. “An excuse? For what?“  
  
For the first time since Eiji entered his apartment, Ash smiles. It‘s only the hint of a smile, really, curled around a cigarette, but the relief Eiji feels when he sees it is so grave and real that it surprises him more than the fact that Ash, for the first time since they‘ve met, hasn‘t at least attempted to give him a smile.  
  
One realization follows the next. Something about Ash is off today, a strange sense of vulnerability that surrounds him, a sluggishness that reminds Eiji of the heat in overcrowded trains on the first day of summer vacation. Yet there‘s a harshness about him he uses to cover that vulnerability, but the mascarade is so bad that even Ash has to realize that he‘s not fooling anyone.  
  
He wonders what happened in the past hours to make him behave like this.  
  
“Are you okay?“ he finds himself asking.  
  
“I will be,“ he says eventually, and everything in Eiji rears to life because he‘s sure that isn‘t good. „I just need… a distraction for now. Maybe I‘ll go to a bar or something.“  
  
Eiji knows that Ash is 21 and that he can do whatever he wants, but memories scatter like pictures, and he remembers family gatherings and how he sat on the stairs with his sister and his cousins, feeling giddy for spying on the grown-ups, and he remembers the silence that followed the mention of a name he‘s never heard before. He remembers a strange man talking to his dad, and he remembers a weekend spent at family friends and the stern faces of his parents. He remembers them dressing in black.  
  
All of that happened so long ago, thousands of miles away from here, but no matter where he goes, if he catches the glint of someone‘s vulnerability, of something secret you shouldn‘t look at, he feels his eyes being drawn to it. It‘s like the white of a bone popping out of red flesh.  
  
Eiji knows that if he were a different man, he would advert his gaze just how he‘s supposed to do.  
  
But Ash is looking directly at him, and the only thing he wants is to be trusted enough so that Ash can pour his pain, his everything, into Eiji‘s hands.  
  
“I‘ll come with you.“

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm out of the hospital but my life really fucking sucks right now, so yeah. I'm sorry for any mistakes, I'll edit them out in the morning


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap of the previous chapter:
> 
> Ash met an old client and was reminded of stuff he would rather forget. When he meets Eiji again he already decided that he just wants to distract himself with something, and Eiji, too worried about him, offered to go with him

 

 

Ash leans forward and his elbow drowns in a sugary sheen that reflects the stroboscope light. The cigarette twitches in his mouth before he moves it to hold it between his front teeth, eyes cast down. His spine bents like a cat's, shadows dipping like liquid into the knobs of his back and neck, his tank top low and loose enough that the shirt strap slip of one shoulder. He sucks his cheeks in as he lights the cigarette, and exchanges such a loaded, heavy gaze with the man across the table that Eiji shudders and wonders what the meaning of that was.

The other man reaches out and grabs Ash at the nape of his neck, and Ash, surprisingly, just goes with the motion and lets himself be pulled close. Eiji feels the urge to look away from that blatant display of physical contact, of intimacy, but he finds that he just can't. He doesn't know if some part of him expects the situation to change drastically; Ash doesn't seem like someone who's fond of touching, and Eiji feels some sort of obligation to keep watching over them in case a hand strays too far into darkened corners.

Ash's smile stretches slow and sweet, like warm milk soaking into fabric. Then, his eyes flick to Eiji and he has to physically restrain himself so he doesn't flinch. He holds his gaze as the other man talks into his ear. His smile curves some more, grows a little more secretive and crooked and lovely.

The man releases him, and again does Ash just move with the motion, so fluent as if he was moving through water. It makes Eiji think of pole vaulting, of physics; makes him think of how energy can never be lost but changes it's form instead, how running is crucial to fly for even a moment, the way a pendulum transforms the push of a finger into another movement.

Ash gives a mathematical equation kinetic form as he slides closer to Eiji. It almost seems unreal, the way it's unreal that words can have a color or that a number tastes like strawberries and summer dew but as Eiji keeps looking at the way the lighting carves Ash's features out, hides them and forms them anew makes Eiji believe that maybe, impossible things are possible as long as it's Ash.

He reaches his hand out, and Eiji‘s eyes flick like on command to the deep deep v of Ash's tank top, sees the smooth white planes of his chest. It's more a feeling than a thought that a top just so covering his nipples almost seems more raunchy then if they were visible.

Eiji flinches hard and he's not sure if the noise he hears is the breathy chuckle of Ash that drains out the booming music or if it's his own blood rushing to his face. He forces himself to relax as the tips of Ash's fingers drift through the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

Eiji's been warned of people like him. He remembers uncles ranting about them, about their pretty faces and flashy clothes, about their sweet smell and how soft their laps were, like they were made for lounging in the afternoon sun and forgetting each and every daunting responsibility. Responsibilities like a wife and children that were so easily, so _readily_ discarded in exchange for more time with them.

His uncles had been talking about women, and Eiji's only mistake was not to apply the same wariness to men as well. But no one is more surprised that himself at how he stopped averting his eyes from they way fabric stretches across broad backs.

This far away from Japan and it's social norms the guilt he had felt from the weird pinch behind his navel as he looked at the thick thighs of his schoolmates feels like it's slowly unraveling. And it reveals feelings that are, surprisingly, not something he is ashamed of at all.

But even if he had been prepared more, Ash Lynx would have still broken through any flimsy barrier Eiji still pretends to maintain. Eiji's sure no warning, no thoughtful intervention, no dramatic documentary could have protected him from the quiet, hard ache in his chest as Ash's fingertips dive into his hair and scratch across his scalp. It feels like Ash is connecting all nerve endings and neurons in his brain by hand. A touch so soft it barely feels like a touch at all, almost more like he's asking for permission to occupy Eiji's space. Eiji is surprised to find that everything in him so wholeheartedly wants to grant the permission to conquer every inch of him.

He doesn't know how long Ash's fingers hover in uncertainty, but he knows the bitter tang of cigarettes and the hot breath at his ear that makes the back of his neck feel hot.

"Are you having fun?" he asks, plump lips grazing his earlobe with each syllable.

"I'm not really- used to this," he answers, and vaguely gestures around the room as if Ash could see it. He seems to understand anyway because he asks "What is it like? Living in Japan?"

 _Suffocating_ , is Eiji's first thought, and the knee jerk guilt sets in. And then he notices the slow, very clear way Ash talks that's so different from usual and it makes something at the base of his throat squeeze. He shrugs. "Different," he settles on after fumbling around for words.

Something about watching someone get ready and lay down all exhaustion and tiredness to put on a gleaming new skin makes it feel like they're close, in a way that makes small talk unnecessary, almost offensive.

But when Ash huffs out a breath, like he's about to scold a child, Eiji automatically draws up a shoulder. Of course the closeness is not based on anything tangible, nothing like memories or the same interests- but some part of Eiji had thought that Ash felt it too.

Or maybe he had hoped it.

Hands slam down on their table, and Eiji can feel the rattle of it in the soles of his feet. Ash moves away as if he's been burned, his eyes gleaming almost hostile at the person that grins at him.

"Shorter," Ash breathes out, his mouth slack with relief. That 'Shorter' grins even wider and settles his hand on the delicate shoulder of the younger man Eiji still hasn't been introduced to. Shorter wedges himself between the man and the table and before he can plop down Ash gets up and wraps him into a hasty, awkward side hug. Shorter's smile grows sweet as he pats Ash's back. He pulls away from the hug, his hands on Shorter's chest, brows furrowed, his lips forming an o, and Eiji guesses he asked "how?" Shorter shakes his head lightly, and before Eiji can figure out what all of that means Shorter's already stretched out his hand to him.

"Hi," he says, teeth gleaming white, "I'm Shorter Wong," and Eiji catches himself looking at Ash from the corner of his eye, and the hint of a smile he finds there is all the reassurance he needs that this man is a friend.

His handshake is rough, quick and businesslike, just the way he would expect of an American. He wonders if Shorter even heard his introduction over the music. Eiji thinks it's a little strange to wear sunglasses at night, but then again it's his first time in a club so he can't really judge anyone for their get up. Especially since he didn't even get to change- Ash just shushed him gently in a chiding tone when Eiji asked about where they would be going, and the tightness Eiji could see in Ash's reflection got worse with each attempt to get an answer out of him. He just couldn't bear to be the reason why Ash looked like that.

He knows that there's not much he can do to help Ash with his worries. He's not good at consoling people and the language barrier is still sometimes a problem for him, not to mention the fact that Ash is one of those rare people who seem completely inscrutable. Maybe that's why Eiji is so strangely conscious of him and feels his quiet presence like something tangible and warm, the paw of a cat on his knee.

Watching Ash transform was a strange sight. He's heard of men wearing makeup but those were actors, models or people who were part of certain groups. He would have never even considered he thought that Ash could make himself look even more beautiful. During the day he was, from a _completely_ objective view, gorgeous. A kind of pretty that goes above and beyond prettiness- something that makes schoolgirls giggle and make the burned out, never smiling cashiers blush. But the glitter on his fair skin, the black around his almond eyes make him look otherworldly, give him the same intensity of a burning flame- it's impossible to look away and yet it's also impossible to stare at it for too long.

"Eiji," Ash screams over the booming music but his words are washed away in a strange jumble of letters. He gives up trying to talk and instead raises his cup and nods his head towards the bar. Eiji nods and gives a thumbs up, and feels his face derail into a stupid grin.

The corners of Ash's lips don't twitch like usually, they _shake_.

He gets up and settles his hands on Eiji's shoulders and swings himself on Eiji's lap. Heat shoots up his cheeks and his ears and the back of his neck. He doesn't know where to look or where to put his hands so he ends up with his hands on Ash's chest. A mistake as it turns out, because Eiji feels the dip between Ash's chest, the hardness of it, the feeling of wanting to see more- Ash cups his face with cold fingers and lifts Eiji's face up, tugs it closer to him- had he been staring?- Ash grins and then he's gone.

An arm crashes down on his shoulder maybe 2 seconds later, and Eiji's yelp gets lost in the music as he whirls his head around.

"Sooo," Shorter drawls, his beer breath bitter and moist on Eiji's cheek, "What's the deal with you and Ash?" he asks, his large hand cupping the roundness of his shoulder. Shorter smells of beer and cigarettes and sweat and he can't form a clear thought-he puts his hand on Shorter's chest, realizing too late from the way Shorter's eyebrows furrow that in his panic he might have seemed rude.

"What?" he asks and gets frustrated at how he's sure his voice is too faint to be heard over all this noise.

"Ash isn't someone who just-" Shorter curls the words in his mouth and lifts his glass, the dark liquid sploshing towards the rim. He settles on a "he just doesn't bring people here."

Eiji frowns. A restlessness itches under his skin, and he can't explain what it is that ticks him off about Shorter, just that it's something he can't ignore, and in some weird blackout moment he grabs Shorter's cup and tilts without tasting anything- until he stops, the cup a lot lighter now, and nail polish remover burns in his throat and his lungs and trickles down his stomach, warms him from the inside out as Shorter's unbelieving face turns into a smile.

Eiji coughs a few times, thankful for the low light that hides his burning cheeks. God, why is he still so childish and let's himself be pulled in some one sided show down?

"What do-" Something shatters and shards fly across the floor, stopping right in front of Eiji's sneakers. He looks up from the mess on the floor.

Thick fingers press into skin, Ash's shirt slips down his shoulder, a hungry mouth sucks white skin.

Ash plucks his features until they're smooth again, the initial surprise gone. He doesn't move.

Eiji looks around, some childish part of him wishing someone would step up and interfere. No one seems to mind.

Life isn't a romance novel where the good are saved by the even better.

The realization that _he_ is the one who has to do something startles him out of his trance. He winds himself out of Shorter's grip, surprised when he finds just how tightly Shorter is holding onto him and even more surprised that Shorter doesn't even look up to see where he's going. His eyes are trained on Ash.

The shards crunch under his feet and he can feel his heart beating against his stiff collar. They don't even look at him- the other man is whispering something in Ash's ear, his fingers around Ash's throat- and Eiji blurts out the very first thing he can think of in Japanese, terribly shaky but loud enough to be heard at last.

Ash's eyebrows jump up in surprise, and the man latching on to his throat finally looks up. Eiji suppresses a shiver as a saliva string shimmers in the low light, connecting the dark bruise on Ash's neck to the mans mouth.

Eiji repeats himself. The few seconds it takes for Ash to understand are long enough to make Eiji question everything about the situation: maybe Ash knows him, maybe this is a normal thing here, maybe Ash will laugh and wave him off, maybe _he's_ the one who's acting strange-

But then Ash whirls out of the man's grasp as if he only waited for a distraction. His hand comes down hard on Eiji's shoulder, his side pressed against Eiji like he's urging him to go.

"I'm _so_ sorry darling," he says, in a weird gooey sing song that sounds like he's trying so hard to sound genuine that it comes of as mocking, "My friend here has never been to America and he's _completely_ helpless without me, he knows like, 3 words of English."

The mans brows furrow and in a mix of suspicion and curiosity his eyes flick from Ash's face to Eiji's. Then he steps forward and a strange sort of desperation grips onto his face. He asks in a voice that sounds like he's containing some physical pain:"When can I see you again?"

His face looks furnace hot and vulnerable tender at the same time. Looking at his face feels wrong somehow, like he's invading a strangers territory, like he‘s an intruder watching-

lovers.

"Soon," Ash answers in a single rush of warm breath and then unlatches himself from Eiji's side. His arms wrap around the mans broad nape of his neck and then he pulls hard-

It reminds him of the time he saw his dad cry for the first time. He had helped his grandpa to build a shed for his garden, and he had hit the hammer right on his thumb. He remembers the sickly paleness on his dad's face under his summer tan, remembers the stoic blank face of his dad as he tried to tolerate the pain. A quiet tear rolled down his cheek, like he let himself slip for just a second, like everything contained in him spilled over. The black and blue strangeness of his thumb weeks after the summer heat had cooled down.

There's of course the basic understanding that lips have a romantic, sometimes even erotic image, the way they carry meaning simply by existing. But connecting the purpose, the use of lips to actually seeing someone he knows, or at least someone who he feels like he knows very well by now kiss someone in front of his eyes is something very different.

He wouldn't have expected someone who said such mean, mocking and sharp things could make his lips look soft and inviting just like that. It doesn't even look like a mouth like that is even capable of saying sharp words.

The man grabs Ash's waist hard, and the thin fabric of his top bunches upwards, revealing a strip of skin above his jeans.

Eiji _feels._

His heart swims above all his other organs, like he's on a roller coaster and an elevator at the same time and all his insides get mixed up.

Ash slithers out of his grasp like silk, his lips pursed into a smile, like he can't get rid of the kiss just yet.

Ash links his arm with Eiji's and pulls him along, the beat following their every step. Eiji doesn't know how long it takes for him to notice that Ash is laughing, and neither does he know when he starts to fall into the same mindless giggling that comes from the weird, childish feeling of having escaped some punishment or chore.

Eiji follows him up some stairs, their hands clutched together, only separated when they have to take a break and brace their hands on their knees until their lungs work again. The music gets quieter and quieter, and Eiji feels like he could run forever, some part of him hoping they'll push open a door to the outside and just keep running all the way home. Ash gives his hand one final tug and then he swirls in the dark, his brain like egg yolk as his eyes adjust to the dimness and the dusty warmness of some walk in closet. Light beams sneak into the dark from underneath the door. Ash is beaming and smells sweet and bitter.

"Now you know," he says or whispers- all Eiji knows is that the words trickle down his spine and pool low. Eiji can't stop blinking. He leans more into Ash's furnace warmth. If he'll just keep leaning like that he'll surely fall straight into him.

"You sell love," he says and his hands mean to cup Ash's face but instead he just sort of clumsily slaps them against Ash's cheeks. The noise makes both of them laugh.

"You're _amazing_ ," he breathes and is surprised to find that there's nothing he has ever meant more in his life.

Ash beams and beams and Eiji likes how Ash's hands fit into the curve of his spine, how he can feel the heat of each individual finger through his shirt.

"Tell me something you've never told anyone," Ash says, "so we're even."

Eiji would have told Ash everything, anything but he can't think of anything that would be worth to tell him, nothing that comes to mind that he would bother someone as extraordinaire as Ash with.

"When I was a child," he says as his head drops to Ash's collarbone. It's hard beneath his forehead and warm, "When I was a child I made a- a promise? No, wait, a bet. I made a bet. So we said we would steal - ah, I don't know the word in English? It's like... sweet and colorful," he murmurs, too wrapped up in warmth.

Ash hums in encouragement for him to keep talking, his jaw against the side of Eiji's head and his hands coming up to lightly hold onto Eiji's upper arm. He's only touching with his fingertips and Eiji almost wants to lean into his hands.

"I went into the store, but suddenly I got really scared because a cousin of mine got caught stealing something once, and he got in a lot of trouble for that. So... instead of stealing it I bought it with the money I was supposed to buy groceries with," he giggles. He thinks that maybe Ash is doing the same judging from the way Ash's chest trembles under Eiji's hands.

"I've never stolen anything in my life."

"Really?" Ash asks, voice too awake. Eiji lifts his heavy head and looks up at Ash. He finds himself wanting to touch his long lashes.

"We need to change that," he says with so much vigor that Eiji can only smile and let himself be pulled out of the closet, down the stairs, let the beat pump through him, the weird sluggishness not wearing off as Ash leads him to a counter.

Eiji's head is heavy on his neck and it automatically drops to Ash's shoulder, and the fingers dipping into his hair are so unsuspected that he startles a little out of his trance.

He looks up into his face, the close heat of it, and he wonders how just a few hours ago they were practically strangers, how he saw Ash as something sharp and dangerous when now he's anything but that.

Ash nods his head imperceptibly into the direction of the bar and Eiji follow his gaze. Glasses sparkle in the dim light, party goers trying to catch the bartenders attention through waving or snapping their fingers, the liquor glinting like molten bronze or rusty rainwater.

He looks back at Ash and raises his eyebrows. He only gets a smile as a response.

Ash leans onto the counter with his elbows as if he's just another person waiting for their drink. His hand slips to the edge of the counter and dangles. It's a weird déjà vu that doesn't fit into this situation. He's reminded of the breathlessness and lightness that comes with pole vaulting.

It's dangerous to have a person who can give him the same feeling so close, and so willing to give it to him.

Ash's hand closes around the neck of a bottle and before Eiji can even try to guess what he grabbed Ash already has his free hand on his hip and urges him to turn around. He can feel the cold of the bottle between his shoulder blades and Ash's moist breath as he chants into his ear "go go go go."

It takes longer than expected to find the way to the outside- mostly because Ash almost rips his hand off several times as he takes sharp, unsuspected turns. Eiji's knee hurts in a way that would normally make his throat close up but he can't think when Ash's words echo in his mind.

Ash slams his hand against a metal door and cold air hits Eiji in the face. Only now does he realize that his cheeks are burning, and he can't tell if it's because of all the running, the liquor he drank accidentally or the fact that he was holding Ash's hands like it was _normal_.

The hairs at the nape of his neck feel sticky and moist. The thudding of the music stops as the heavy door swings shut behind them, like one single boisterous clap of appreciation for their little heist with a finality that warns them to never do something similar again.

The only sound is their panting and a siren that blares too far away to be of any concern to them.

Ash leans against the wall, his throat bobbing as he shallows. He holds the bottle up like a trophy.

"This isn't what I expected at all when I met you," he breathes, his face all gooey and soft, and Eiji wishes he'll never go back to the sharp, mean thing he used to be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took... so long.... I'm really sorry about that but I promise I will finish this fic, even if it takes 2 years. I don't know if anyone is still interested in this fic since the anime has ended, but Banana Fish is still a fandom with amazing artists and writers, and I'm really happy to be a part of it
> 
> (Please leave me a comment, that would really make my day ❤)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so here's the deal: Give me words and I'll give you even more back. More words equals even more words. Doesn't that just sound like a great investment that's completely not shady? All you have to do is click comment and slam your head on the keyboard. EASY!
> 
> You can visit my Tumblr [here!](https://meloyelox.tumblr.com/)


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